


Electrified

by Kim Gasper (mickeym)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-12
Updated: 2001-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/Kim%20Gasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos takes on a difficult Quickening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electrified

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maygra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/gifts).



 

Cold night. Late fall in Paris, with moisture rushing in from the waterways, borne on winds with vicious intent. Methos shivered and huddled deeper into his coat, though it was more an automatic reaction to icy fingers teasing at his collar than any real need for warmth. The surge and hum of a Quickening ran through him, heating him from the inside out.

And speaking of Quickenings. He shot another glance over at Duncan and frowned. The other man hadn't said a word to him since they left the park--the same park they'd been shortcutting through when the challenger rose up out of the shadows.

"You planning on talking to me again any time this century?" Pissy-assed Scot. Just because Methos' neck might've been on the line for a blip or two...did he treat MacLeod this way when *he* was challenged? Hell, no. A snort answered him and he frowned again. Fine. He wasn't going to force the issue. When Duncan was ready to talk to him again, they'd talk.

It took another three blocks before the silence was broken and Methos actually startled a little when the rich voice broke over him.

"Did insanity run in your family, Methos?" Duncan kicked, rather viciously, to Methos' way of thinking, at a pile of dried leaves they passed, then gave his companion a sidelong look. "Or maybe it galloped, instead--?"

Fine. He could do pissy, too. "Considering I don't remember my family I'd say not." He paused, considered Duncan's stiffness, the tension radiating outward. "What's your problem anyway, Mac? We're immortals. We challenge and fight. It's what we do."

"Oh, and this is the same Methos who counsels avoiding challenges? 'Live, grow stronger, fight another day'?" The glare leveled at him seemed to somehow fuel the restless energy churning inside him and Methos shifted uncomfortably, his body thrumming.

"Sometimes, MacLeod, shit happens." Methos kept his voice cool, betraying none of the heat sparking through him. He shivered when an errant current sizzled through him making various muscles twitch. His cock twitched right along with the rest, gleefully reminding him that parts of him enjoyed Quickenings far more than other parts. "And anyway--it wasn't like I walked around the city looking for this guy. *He* found *me*. Not the other way around. I had to answer the challenge, you know that."

Not entirely true, maybe. He did counsel avoiding them when possible. He'd ducked challenges before. It wouldn't have been the first. And privately, between him and the concrete, he'd had a lot more challenges in the years he'd been keeping company with Duncan. The man was like a magnet for challenge-loving Immortals. It'd gotten so it was also more difficult to duck out of a challenge without chancing running into that person later down the road. But tonight, buoyed by a particularly good bottle of malt scotch and good music courtesy of Joe and company, it seemed like a good idea to accept. He wasn't really sure why; it wasn't in keeping with the "stay low, stay alive" profile he'd cultivated these last couple centuries. Besides which, Quickenings weren't usually--ever?--pleasant. Best way to avoid them was to avoid challenges. But he'd taken the challenge, then taken his challenger's head.

"Mmmph." Amazing, really, how much could be read into a single-syllabled noise. Methos almost laughed, but too many parts of him were still twitching and wiggling oddly.

It'd been a big one, too. He wasn't sure how old Donovan was--not as old as he was, certainly--but his centuries numbered well into the double digits. Older than Amanda. Older than Kristin. On par with Cassandra, perhaps, or Silas. Another current sparked, forcing a quiet gasp from him. This one wasn't going to lie quietly, it seemed. Bugger all. He wished there was a way to tell the shade of his challenger to fuck off, but that seemed a bit redundant, not to mention moot. The challenge was over and he was the victor. Now he just had to live with the spoils. He sighed and flexed his shoulders; his back itched with spasms tickling up and down. Not unpleasant, exactly, but--

"Methos?" Duncan sounded less angry, more concerned, and Methos realized he'd stopped dead in his tracks. "You okay?"

"I--don't know." Damn but his voice sounded odd. He shivered again and decided he wouldn't be surprised to see blue-white streaks of electricity arcing up out of him. It felt so strong, trapped inside him, struggling with his own essence, his own being.

Need rushed up to consume him at the exact moment Duncan reached out to--what? What was Duncan going to do? He'd never know, because he reached out faster and grabbed the other man's lapels, hauling Duncan up against him, mouth searching for the other's heat. It wasn't so much a kiss as a desperate attempt to crawl inside, to take refuge in Duncan. Or perhaps to consume him like he was being consumed.

He wasn't at all unfamiliar with the increase in arousal--hell, in all appetites--after a Quickening, particularly one as strong as Donovan's was proving. But the absolute need that itched along his every nerve ending was a trifle unsettling. He wanted to unzip his skin and walk out of it. He settled for trying to get inside Duncan's, pushing him up against the wall of the nearest building, his hands stroking inside the long, black coat as his mouth worked feverishly to taste as much of Duncan in as short a time possible.

Cheeks, palette, tongue, everything was slick and warm, and Methos heard a soft, rough sound like a moan; it made the air change patterns within Duncan's mouth. He drew away for a moment to gasp in enough oxygen to make his lungs happy before diving back into his refuge. Their teeth bumped, the muted yet sharp sound of enamel meeting clicking through the louder, bigger sounds of hands upon cloth and cloth upon cloth, and breathing gone rough and harsh.

And the hunger building inside him was...delicious, disturbing, overwhelming, so many more things, and all he wanted to do was wallow in it, when he ought to be scared--or at least wary--of it.

"I want you to fuck me," he muttered, dragging his mouth over a prickly, stubbled chin, literally sucking at the hot skin there. "Now. Fast and hard."

He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised--shocked?--at his declaration, but he was betting it was himself.

"We're on a public street, Methos." It would've sounded like a resolute refusal if it weren't for the hitches in Duncan's breathing, the slight catch on the last two words. Not to mention the erection pushing against his belly. Methos grinned and nipped at the pulse he could feel pounding against his tongue through the thin skin of Duncan's neck.

"Yeah, and your point?" But he pushed Duncan sideways then backwards, walking them into the shadows of the alleyway between buildings. God, he was being eaten alive from the inside out. Relief. He needed relief. Now. His hands were shaking as he worked to pull Duncan's shirt out of his pants. The skin beneath was hot, almost as hot as he was. Sparks zapped through him again and he shook in reaction. "We're off the street. Fuck me."

"Here?" The shadows blocked his eyes, but Methos could hear the surprise in Duncan's voice.

Ah, it was good to know he could still shock him. He'd started to wonder of late. "Yes, dammit. Before I fidget out of my skin." He felt like he was mainlining continuous jolts of electricity. Donovan was proving worse than Silas had. Of course, he'd had help with that one in the form of the man rubbing against him now. The double-Quickening they'd shared probably saved them both--their sanities, at least--though it'd nearly ruined their friendship. They'd been months rebuilding in the aftermath of Kronos and Silas and all that'd transpired in Bordeaux.

"I don't have anything--" They both sounded winded, like they'd been running for miles. Come to think of it, he felt like he'd been running.

"What, no lube tucked away in your pocket for times like this?" He bit Duncan's throat lightly, then groaned when strong hands cupped and stroked him through his jeans.

"Not usually, no."

"Spit, then." Not his first choice, but it would do in a pinch. And worse than just winded, he was breathless now, imagining himself impaled, strong arms holding him while he was opened, taken, other sparks joining the Quickening to set him on fire.

"No." Duncan's voice was sure, strong, and for a moment Methos felt anger add to the conflagration inside him--he was practically begging the man, damn him!

"No?" He shoved Duncan harder against the building and growled when the other man pushed back, flipping him around roughly so his cheek was pressed against the prickly, raspy surface of the bricks. He growled again, louder, when teeth closed over the large tendon in the side of his neck, biting hard enough to make his eyes prickle and to send a jolt of pleasure/pain racing through him, slamming up against the hunger, pushing it higher.

"Fuck me." He groaned the words this time, arching his head to the side to let Duncan chew and bite and oh, god, whatever he wanted so long as he didn't stop--

"Undo your pants." Duncan's voice was a rough gasp in his ear, nearly as rough as the sparks of energy that flew through him when his nipples were tweaked playfully, then rougher before being abandoned. Methos moaned his discontent, then trembled when Duncan stripped his long coat off him. That left him in shirt and jeans and while he was far from naked he felt suddenly vulnerable, which sent more heat licking through him, countering the cool breeze of the night air that ruffled his hair.

He wrenched one hand down to tug at his fly--thank god for button-fly denims--shuddering when the buttons popped free. His cock surged through the opening in his boxers, turgid flesh uncontainable by a thin piece of fabric. "Do it," he hissed quietly, writhing back against Duncan when the other man scraped his fingernails down Methos' chest. Maybe it'd just been a tease, and spit would be the thing that saved the day. Maybe. He didn't care any longer.

Duncan's hand wrapped around him then, cool against the heat rising off his skin. Methos groaned, shivering when the night wind picked up and blew around them, like frosty tongues reaching out to lick at him, dancing in between Duncan's fingers to tease and torment him. The combination of cool and hot sliding up and down his fevered skin was enough to drive him out of his mind, and he thrust harder and faster into the tunnel created by Duncan's hand, hearing Donovan's shade laughing inside him as it goaded him onward.

It was almost too much; he was going to spend and he didn't want that. Not yet, not when he wanted--needed--so much more. He grasped Duncan's wrist tightly, teeth snapping closed over his groan of frustration. "Duncan, no--"

"C'mon, Methos. You know you want it." The words were a sensuous hiss in his ear, accompanied by a strong pinch to his right nipple. The shock reverberated through his body, small sparks joining together, creating large strands of energy and heat that wrapped around each nerve ending within him. He shook harder, pressing backwards to feel Duncan's erection pushing against him. Warm lips touched his earlobe, then his neck and that voice hissed softly again, "Come for me. Come on."

"Yesss--" He wasn't sure if he grunted it, or sighed it, or even verbalized it at all, but the word resounded through him at the same time Duncan tightened his fingers on him, the strokes faster and harder now, stripping his thoughts of everything but the electricity pounding through him.

And then it was upon him, rearing up like an animal coming in for the kill.

He felt it, he heard it, he lived it. His world shrunk to nothing but the force shaking him as it screamed through him, an orgasm so large, so overpowering he felt as though it were sentient, taking part of him with it as he wriggled and panted and rocked, spending himself in long searing pulses into the hot hand covering him.

He came to his senses a moment later, his heart slamming against his breast, his breathing wild and erratic. Duncan's breath was hot against his neck, warmth piled upon fiery making him tremble further. He ought to be satisfied from that, but hunger still burned hot within him; pulses of electricity shivered through him, the Quickening's energy abated only somewhat. He turned his head a bit, welcoming the scrape of brick against his cheek, grounding him momentarily. "Duncan--"

"Push your pants down." The voice in his ear was rough, rich with arousal and need. Briefly Methos wondered how'd he'd gotten MacLeod to this point--it really wasn't like him to go for sex in an alleyway. Maybe this Quickening was making them both temporarily insane--from the challenge, onward. He nodded then reached shaking hands to push at the denim wrapped around his legs.

*Exposed* didn't begin to cover it when he really realized he was leaning bare-assed against a rough alley wall and Duncan still had his overcoat on. Ripples of excitement, dismay, arousal all slithered through him joining the hunger, creating a tidal wave effect. He was going to drown on the heat suffusing him.

"Now do mine." Methos half-turned, surprised to see Duncan cupping his hand slightly, his other hand working at the belt at his waist. He vaguely remembered that hand holding him, catching his spendings, and felt a smile curve his lips. It wasn't a happy smile as such, more an anticipatory one. He turned the rest of the way and jerked at Duncan's pants, opening them enough to allow his erection to surge out. Duncan touched his chin, eyes gleaming darkly in muted light and shadows. "You still want me to fuck you?" Methos nodded, his stomach clenching. "Then turn around."

He turned, his breath catching in his chest as he waited for Duncan. When strong, warm hands cupped him then spread him open Methos jerked then breathed out in a loud exhale. A low, thick chuckle resounded near his ear making his skin prickle, intense heat churning through him. He pushed back against those warm hands. "C'mon, Duncan...*please*." His jaw ached from gritting his teeth.

Blunt fingers probed, then were replaced by something thicker and far warmer. Methos sucked in a deep breath when Duncan pushed forward, breaching him, and the electricity spiraling through him increased in number and strength.

"You're hot--" Duncan's voice was breathless and Methos wished for the first time they were face-to-face so he could see him, see his eyes.

"On fire," he agreed hoarsely, his fingers curling against the hard brick. Duncan grunted an acknowledgment and pushed forward again, his hands pulling against Methos' hips, angling him better. Methos yelped at the increase of sensation. "Fuck--"

"--yes." Duncan groaned and thrust again, slowly, maddeningly, his breathing harsh and rapid in Methos' ear. "I am...."

"Faster--" It was coiled inside him like a snake, except no snake was ever this hot. Methos opened his eyes and glanced upward, expecting lightning bolts, arcs of electricity, some sign that this wasn't all internal. He shuddered when Duncan increased his speed, thrusts shorter and faster, splitting him open, sending shards of a different sort of electricity through him.

"...love this..." Duncan nuzzled at his neck, biting, licking, sucking at his pulse that thundered in his ears. "Feels good."

"God--" He was going to burn to ashes in a moment. Surely no human body--even immortal--could withstand heat such as was gathering inside him?

"No. Just me." Duncan's voice was rough in his ear, splintering him further, like the cock driving into him. Taking the whole, rending him apart only to remake him into whatever Duncan wanted. Pliable. Fuckable. Methos groaned and pushed back, wanting more. Hunger was a live thing that had him by the throat and was shaking him mercilessly.

"Please--" His mouth felt dry, his body parched like the sands of the many deserts he'd seen. The wind blew again, harder, cold and laden with moisture, late-fall rains hovering nearby. Methos wished for a moment for water, but knew all it would create would be steam. No slaking of thirsts. Not yet. Another appetite needed satisfying first.

"Soon. Almost..." Faster now, the thrusts rough and furious, forcing him up onto his toes then back to meet each one. Duncan's hands clutched at him and Methos wasn't sure what was holding them up; his legs felt like tubes of water. He rubbed at himself almost desperately, jerking in a rough rhythm that matched the pounding he was getting, his cock hard again, surging with each press of Duncan's against that sensitive spot inside him. "Almost..."

"Yes...yes--" His voice was a hoarse sob, the words nothing more than rhythmic puffs of air. He fancied he could see steam rising off them, mixing with the bolts of energy that were arcing around them. Or maybe those were just white spots from holding his breath, from meeting each thrust as if it were *the one*, the one which would release all this energy, all this heat from inside him. He jerked himself harder, faster, the skin on his cock raw and sensitive, burning with each stroke. That made sense, all of him was burning, he was electricity personified, burning burning burning--

Duncan gripped him tightly and yelped in his ear at the same time he felt the surge inside him, strong contractions as he was filled, heat rising and spreading out through him. Methos groaned loudly and shoved harder into his hand, the burn rushing through him, coalescing into something white-hot, pulsing with life, with purpose. It rose up through him as a shrieking phantom, spearing each nerve, leaving him glowing and gasping in its wake, his palm wet and slick with his orgasm by the time it was gone.

He'd never had a Quickening that had a ghost, but maybe there really was a first for everything, even that.

Methos leaned against the alley wall panting; sweat dripping down the back of his neck where it'd collected along his hairline. Duncan's breath against his ear sounded like the roar of a train late at night, but he recognized the satisfaction that purred out along with it and grinned tiredly. "God."

"That...sums it up nicely." Still raspy, but sounding more like the Duncan he knew and loved, not the freight-train-from-hell. There was a soft rustling sound behind him, then the wet noise of Duncan pulling out, leaving him open and aching. "Feel better?" Large warms hands patted him, rubbing at his shoulders, at the tension still there.

"Yeah. Like my head's not going to explode now." He shuddered once then reached down to pull his jeans up, making three tries before he grasped the cloth; his hands were trembling badly. "Damn."

"We're almost home, y'know. Five more minutes--we'd have been there." Duncan's voice was rich with amusement, concern, all vestiges of his earlier anger gone. He waited patiently while Methos turned around and buttoned up, then handed him his coat. Methos patted it to be sure his sword was still there, though he thought he'd have noticed the clank if it'd hit pavement. He shrugged into his coat, then leaned against the wall and nodded.

"I know. I just--couldn't wait." He still had no words to describe the absoluteness of the sensations which had engulfed him. He'd been swallowed whole. "I've never had a Quickening quite like that one before."

Duncan steadied him while he found his legs, pushed off from the wall. "So I gathered." He paused and gave Methos a long look. "Pretty bad?"

"Not--bad." How to explain it? "Just...intense. Overwhelming. Like...Silas, doubled." That got him a raised eyebrow and he nodded. "It was like every single part of me was electrified, or on fire, or something. I burned--and couldn't put the fire out."

"Is it gone now?" They peered out from the alleyway and resumed their walk. Duncan was right; as they came up over the slope he could see the barge, rocking gently as waves lapped at its bottom.

"Yeah. Think so. Resting quietly, anyway."

"Good." He was patted, more tension rubbed away gently before MacLeod dropped his hand again. "Let's go home and get in bed, get some sleep. In the morning we can make sure all the burn is gone. It doesn't hurt to be cautious, y'know."

Methos grinned. Even as tired as he was now, it sounded good. He butted his shoulder against Duncan's. "Sounds like a plan to me." Duncan was right, after all. It never hurt to be cautious.

~finis~


End file.
